My Brother, a Hero
by Terrorking Tragedian
Summary: Self-sacrifice is the essence of heroism. When Jackson decides to save his beloved sister's life at the cost of his own, what will Miley think of him? Ever-annoying brother? Or hero? Alt ending for "You Gotta Not Fight for your Right to Party".


I found this file sitting in my computer – it's probably been there for a year or so. This could be a good story, I thought as I completed this. The end bit was written a few hours ago, the rest of it in front is the product of last year. (Heh. This thing seems to be written in the style of the O-level essays I'll be writing next week – school rules my life, I'm afraid.)

This story is another alternate ending for the 'right to not party or whatever' episode, the one in which Miley and Jackson snuck off for the evening and nearly drove off a cliff. I dunno why, but I think I like that episode TOO much...anyways, enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Anything mentioned in this document belongs to their respective owners and trademarks (AH HAH!! Fear my legal skillz!! LOLOLLLOOlL1111L!!) Sorry, won't do that again.

* * *

"His act of self-sacrifice shall never be forgotten."

The venerable old priest's solemn voice rang out across the hall, reverberating around the walls. Echoes of the funeral mass still lurked in the air as the priest spoke, singing grief and misery into the frigid still air. The priest delivered his speech on the podium of the church hall, tall and firm, resembling an aged black-clad statue. His frail bony fingers cradled a gilded bible, and as he recited phrases from the Psalms for all in the hall to hear, he would take occasional glances at the tiny black-printed words. At his feet, in front of the podium, lay a mahogany coffin, with the picture of Jackson stood up on it. Even from a picture on the coffin, his eyes seemed to dance soulfully, and whenever I looked at them, they stared back at me warmly.

"And we must remember that true sacrifice, is out of pure and true love…"

I hung my head in shame, in guilt, in grief, and in penitence. Hot salty tears welled in my eyes once more, threatening to burst through the dam. My eyes began to block out sound. The words of the priest had no more meaning in them; their significance paled in comparison to the sublime message projected by Jackson's ink-printed eyes. It was as if his soul had inhibited the picture temporarily, and through the ink, he saw all the mourners, and the funeral procession.

Daddy sat on my right, rigid as a board, distant and cold. I knew he was wrestling with his intense feelings. His strong-as-metal façade could not hide the obvious pain in his eyes, however. I could sense his very thoughts; he was feeling guilty that he had not treated Jackson well enough, and had he not been so harsh on him, he might still be alive.

It wasn't Daddy's fault. He only meant us well. If anything, it was mine. I am to blame for Jackson's death.

"Remember that Jesus, who died on the cross for the sinful, forgave his enemies even in his suffering...his blood rinse the sins off the people, and they became innocent... "

The tears finally broke through and ran down my cheeks. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. The lump in my throat made it even more difficult to breathe. Waves of guilt washed all over me as I recounted to myself once again, the events of that fateful night.

* * *

The truck began to tip ever forward. Jackson tugged and tugged at his feet, but they remained stuck to the doomed truck. Having been rescued and freed seconds ago, I turned around and mustered up all my strength to wrench Jackson free of the vehicle. It was my turn to rescue him. But even our combined might failed to free his feet.

The truck inched forward. The frail wooden branch would not take the weight of the truck for very long. Haste turned into desperation as I tugged with all my might. Fear and terror drove me on.

"OW! Miley, you're hurting me!" Jackson yelled.

"Grit your teeth and bear it, Jackson! I'm trying to save your life here!" I retorted angrily.

"Well it's not working! Look we need to try something else-"

"In case you haven't noticed, Bro," I snapped waspishly, rolling my eyes at his stupidity, "you don't have time. We're stuck in the middle of the woods, with your big feet stuck in the truck, and me trying to get your ass from-"

The branch snapped all of the sudden with an almighty crack. In the dark and quiet of the night the death-cry of the branch seemed to ripple through the air like a shock wave. It silenced our bickering at once, and with renewed energy I yanked hard at Jackson's hands like a game of tug-of-war with the metal beast.

Composure and irritability gave way to sheer desperation and fear. The truck started to teeter forward.

"Jackson, IT'S NOT WORKING!!" I wailed.

"Move, Miley! MOVE!!" Jackson bellowed.

"What are you talking about?!"

"Go! Just get off! NOW!!"

And he pushed hard against me and shoved me off the truck. I hit the hard cold soil and realized that the truck was already disappearing down the cliff. But it failed to register in my mind.

"Jackson!" I screamed, the slight tinge of anger still present in my voice.

"GO!"

And he was gone. He went down with the truck, to the bottom of the cliff. The dark abyss, the depths of hell, with the metal beast that would be his coffin.

A distant crash, and then silence. Only the sound of the wind blowing against my face.

"I'm not leaving...without...you..." I whispered. The sentence trailed away into nothingness, gone with the night wind. It was a promise that came to be uttered too late, like a case of 'l'esprit du escalier'. It seemed to have come after the point of no return, when things were no longer reversible.

My mind went into freeze mode. What exactly happened before me simply was too great, too terrible to be allowed into my head. I just stood and stared. Into the darkness. Into the trees, down the cliff. Into the solemn night.

* * *

I felt a hand on my shoulder as I sobbed into my hands. Lilly was there, and beside her was Oliver, who looked strangely distant and disconnected. Then I realized (or was it remembered?) that they were sitting to my left for the past hour. I looked up at them through the haze of wetness in my eyes and saw that their faces were streaked with tears too. They cared for Jackson as much as they cared for me.

But they could not possibly feel the tumultuous emotions tumbling up and down inside me, infecting me like poison. I could name these emotions like friends: burning guilt, shock and denial. Jackson had sacrificed his life for mine – his precious life, which was just as valuable as mine (in fact, my life wasn't worth tuppence ever since I remarked cruelly about his). And after his act of martyrdom, he...left. Just like that. It was too sudden. One moment he was yelling and me, the next he was gone. No scream, no cry, not a single word since.

No tears were shed until a day later, when the truth of the tragedy finally hit me with full force – they told us he died. He was under the white blanket. Then I realized. And the tears came in torrents. He felt nothing, probably. Just a crushing pain, then bliss and eternal peace. I hope, for my only wish afterwards was to join him, to say what I had no time to say to him, to apologise. But he was at peace; much better off than I was. Guilt corroded my guts within days after that...incident.

I could not believe that even until the end, the last words he heard were angry words...

He deserved better. He had no time to say "I love you." Nor did me, to him.

The endless talking seemed to be over. I heard, distantly, people rising from their seats, and Daddy doing the same thing. It was time for the burial.

"C'mon, Mile. Let's go," Daddy said simply.

I looked up at him. If his eyes ever looked dead, I would say they never did until then. His face was even more impassive than Oliver's; it was like staring into a sheet of slate. Automatically, I obeyed his ushering hand and before I could make sense of the road and floor before me, we were at the large oblong hole in the ground. The coffin was sitting at the bottom. Dad peered down the hole, and I knew he wanted me to do the same.

The casket was open. I looked down at it, probably for the last time. And Jackson's face was just like Mom's when she passed away – sweet, contented, as if he was asleep. It felt unreal; I read about these things in books and seen them in TV dramas, about how peaceful people looked when they're dead. But it happening in real life is just ethereal. Is death really so comfortable? Would I like to experience it now? It was a zone beyond the horizon, a place of no return, after all...

Dad grunted. He had run out of words to say. For the first time in his life, he was at a loss of words. I looked at him and whispered, "Will Jackson hear me?"

It was almost a childish question; a silly question. I felt slightly embarrassed to utter these words, especially in front of Lilly and Oliver. But I asked this very question three years ago, at Mom's funeral. I would ask it again.

Dad stared back at me for a long moment, then, in equally hushed and gentle tones, he replied, "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my love."

I knelt down and leaned across the hole such that I was right above Jackson's face. The suddenness of the incident ripped us apart, but the spiritual bond is indomitable. Yet Death is here, in all formality and finality, to sever the ties forever. I swallowed. Since there was no time for me to say it when he lived, I would say it before he departed for good. (Literally, I hope.)

"I love you, Jackson," I said very softly, so that only he may hear it. "You are worth more than me, and will always be. I tried my best, but you still..."

I choked on the lump in my throat. Nevertheless, I swallowed it once more and pushed on.

"I will live on for you. I will never forget you. You gave your life for mine, so I will live it to the fullest. For you. I'm sorry, Jackson, for everything I did that you didn't like. I hope you forgive me..."

A teardrop escaped my eye and dropped on his face. He would like it, I thought.

At that point, the mental script for my speech vanished; I could not remember what else I wanted to say. Or what I was supposed to say. I ran out of words. But he understood, and he heard; I could tell. There was no need for me to say any more. All these thoughts crossed my mind as I stared for a moment, undisturbed, into his pale white face.

Besides, the lump was making its way up to my throat again...this speech had to end.

"I love you, bro."

I choked on the lump again, as the sobs recommenced and hot tears rolled down my cheeks once more. It was a parting line; the line everybody says to each other when they have to leave forever. Even that old chestnut was a clichéd line – it just sounded so corny! So unoriginal! Jackson deserved better...

Then, a ghost of a smile flitted across the deathly pale face. I gasped quietly; I was astonished! Was it a smile, or a ghost of a smile? No one else had noticed it, not even Daddy. Maybe it was my imagination. Or perhaps, that little glancing smile was meant only for me; I saw Jackson giving me a friendly wave from the other side of the impalpable veil...

He heard me. Every word. And he loved the word "bro", which until then he had never heard from me. He knew I was there, even in death. And he understood. That was all that mattered.

I got back up on my feet and looked at daddy. He didn't avert his gaze from Jackson's face, and simply stared on. Then he gave a small nod – a nod that meant many things. With that, he turned away and called for the grave-diggers.

"Fill the hole," he said.

The coffin was closed, lid sealed tightly over it like a locked door. The hole was slowly filled in by the two men in overalls, and with every shove of the shovels, I felt myself being distanced from Jackson more and more, until the connection was totally gone. Not even an infinitesimal trace of him left. I started. The hole was completely filled up, yet something felt weirdly empty...

Lilly sobbed harder into Oliver's shoulder, which was already buckling under the stress of grief; Oliver was no iron man. The cold gale blew even harder, lashing my face like knives...

The men carried something huge and set in on top of the hole. Then they left, giving me an unobstructed view of a magnificent obsidian gravestone. It was ornately decorated, with an angel standing on top carrying a crucifix. And on the black marbled stone, gold words emblazoned across horizontally shone brightly in the light the grey afternoon sky could afford.

Jackson Stewart

Beloved brother, precious son, a hero 'til the end

Epitaph

"Joie de Vivre! And sweet nibblets too!"

Born...

I didn't read on; my mind dwelled on the epitaph. "Joie de Vivre!" meant "joy of life" in French. It was a perfect epitaph for Jackson, the party animal, the fun guy. Yet, he gave that life and all its joys for me. From then on, that motto belonged to me. The torch was passed, and I had to live all the joys of life that he was denied. I would take his place as the party animal, as he desired. His last parting wish.

I smiled. And sweet nibblets too. Bet he loved that.

* * *

Done! Yay! Another one off my chest and into the world of the...er...internet! Or, Art! Er, never mind...

This work is like a timeline-mosaic for me. The front is the work of my skills last year (not as skilled now), and the back is a reflection of the skills I currently possess. I don't know if the subtle differences are detectable, but I for one claim it to be one of my most treasured works. And I am the author. (What a wonderful world!)

Oh, and FYI, sharp-eyed readers will notice that in another story of mine, Miley was the one who...well, read and find out. (Spoilers! Spoilers! Aaargh!)

Have a nice day. :)

Terrorking Tragedian


End file.
